Singing Songs in a Foreign Land
by Bottle of Smoke
Summary: In 1933 Germany, a young Jewish painter must make a choice - family or life. The story of how the painting of the Dawn Treader came to be. A prequel of sorts to my story 'And Where I am Going, Everything Goes,' though can be read as a stand alone piece.
1. The Storm

Note: On a recent episode of Narnia Fan Fiction Revolution's podcast AsCast, the painting of the _Dawn Treader _was brought to light. The hosts wondered why in the world was there a painting of a Narnian ship in our world. Rthstewart, one of the hosts, brought up my story, _And Where I am Going, Everything Goes_, as one of the main characters is a painter. And I immediately wondered how I could work the painting into my story. Though I couldn't find a way to put it in AWIAGEG, I am using a character from the story, Mr. Maler. It is a stand-alone piece, but can be read as a prequel to my story.

Much thanks to my beta, Jeff, for looking over this gigantic story. I seriously can't thank you enough for it, Jeff.

Lastly, while plotting this story out, I listened to the song 'On the Willows' off the _Godspell _soundtrack A LOT. Though I don't usually use music when I write, this song really helped with my vision, and is an excellent accompaniment to this story. Not to mention, it's just a beautiful song.

* * *

_We put away our lyres,_

_Hanging them on the branches of the willow trees._

_For there our captors demanded a song of us._

_Our tormentors requested a joyful hymn:_

'_Sing us one of those songs of Jerusalem!'_

_But how can we sing the songs of the Lord _

_While in a foreign land?_

- Psalm 137:2-4

There was something about his voice that sent shivers down Daniel's spine. The chancellor's fervor, his commanding presence, was chilling. He spoke with a thick accent, but even then Daniel could hear him, clear as bell. If the chancellor were to say sweet words of praise, it would still leave Daniel cold. But what the new chancellor was saying was anything but that. He was saying words of disdain, of hurt and hatred.

"Turn that off, Daniel," his wife called from the kitchen, "I don't want to hear this."

He reached out a hand to switch the dial off, but was hesitant. The chancellor's voice was ringing through Daniel's ears, echoing in his mind. It paralyzed him.

"Daniel, what are you doing? Why aren't you turning it off?" Her voice was firmer, harsher. He quickly flipped the radio off. The two voices, one of his beloved and the other of his ruler, clanged discordantly in his mind. He covered his ears in pain and looked up at the ceiling. The darkness of the night swathed their parlor. He didn't want to think of the outside world, of that man. It was easier to forget about such things, to pretend that they didn't exist.

His wife entered, switching the light on. "Just sitting in the darkness? I sometimes wonder why I married you, Daniel Maler," she joked as she walked over to him. She sat on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. He kissed her on the mouth, listlessly. She pulled away, her brows furrowed. "Daniel, what's the matter?"

The echoes of the chancellor's voice rung in his mind, even now. "Nothing, Annelies."

"Please, Daniel. You've never kissed me that meekly before," she noted, stroking his hair. "Was it the chancellor?"

He nodded, grimly. Her hands slipped into his, grasping them gently. "I told you not to listen to that garbage," she said.

"I tried, Annelies, it's just…he's too captivating."

"Captivating. You call that devil _captivating_?"

He looked at her, tried to reconcile with her. "No, it's just –"

She took his face in her hands, and she looked at him calmly. "He may have a silver-tongue, my love, but that does not redeem the words he speaks. I never want to hear anything good about that man ever again."

She laid her head on his shoulder, and he sighed, trying to ignore the silver sounds in his ears.

* * *

"This can't be any good," Friedrich sighed, throwing the paper on the table in disgust. He took a puff of his cigar. "Every day, it's something new proposed by the chancellor, and every day, it gets worse."

The chancellor's face was emblazoned across the paper, jowly and scowling. He looked like any other German man, hard working and well meaning.

"After this, he's supposedly barring any Jewish students from attending universities," his older brother grimly added. "I knew this man would be nothing but trouble." Friedrich put out his cigar on the chancellor's face, grinding the ashes in. "That's what I think of you, _trottel_." He looked up at Daniel, then pulled his mouth up into a half-smile. "Come on, Dan, I'm sure you wanted to do that too."

"What Jew doesn't?" he said, staring at the picture of Hitler. His brother was far more crass than he was, and more prone to act on his emotions.

"Now, let's get down to business. What are you thinking of ordering?" his brother asked, pulling out their menu and looking over the lunch selections. "It's not as if I lunch with you every day, now do I?"

"No," Daniel sighed, glancing over the choices. He wished that he could enjoy their meal, but his mind always seemed to travel back to the man emblazoned upon the front page.

"Mother sends her regards, and is sorry she couldn't come. She and Flora always have lunch together, though," Friedrich said. Ever since their widowed mother's heart attack seven years ago, Friedrich had taken care of their tough-willed but weak-hearted mother. Between his medical practice and Mother's caretaking, he hardly had time for himself.

"How is Mother?"

"She's fine. Her heart's a bit fussy, though. Still can't do much moving." He closed his menu and placed it on the table, decision made. "How's Annelies by the way? Is she still a little sick in the morning?"

"Yes, but she says it's fine. 'It means it's still alive,' she says," Daniel murmured.

"I do hope the best for you two. You're both very young – there's still time if it doesn't work out again," his brother replied.

A young waiter interrupted their conversation to take their orders. Daniel blindly picked something, uninterested in food.

"I've always enjoyed this place. Such good food for the price," Friedrich declared as the waiter took their menus away. "Money's so scarce anymore. Even for doctors."

Daniel knew all too well. Though he played chance with being a painter, he had done moderately well. Now, though, that the world had sunk into a depression, he found himself scrounging for money. He noted with embarrassment that he wasn't even able to pay for his lunch. It was all on Friedrich's tab.

"I've had to take up a few rough jobs here and there," Daniel noted, quietly. "It's getting so difficult anymore to make a living."

"How are your paintings coming along?"

"Oh, fine. Mr. Schwartz says I've made great improvements, but there's still some room for work. No shows or unveilings, though. No commissions lately, either. He says, though, that I should stop painting for a while. He's only sold one of my paintings in the past five months."

"Is it the bad market?"

"Partly. But he says it's because the customers have found out I'm a Jew. They don't want to buy anything Jewish. Leaves a taint on their hands," he bitterly said. He tapped his fingers on the table, and looked up at his brother's astonished face. "It's happening to you, too, isn't it Fritz?"

"Yes," his brother muttered.

"It's awful, isn't it?"

"Yes. Some say it'll be worse. There are rumors circulating of a law that'll limit Jewish doctors."

"Haven't you wanted to get away? Go where no one cares you're Jewish?" Daniel wondered.

"Yes, but…are you thinking of leaving, Dan?"

The painter leaned back in his chair. "It's been a fleeting thought in my mind, Fritz. Every time I turn on the radio, I hear that voice, and it scares me and thrills me all at once. Do you know how awful that feels?"

"I think everyone has that feeling around Hitler," his brother said.

"And I hate it, that this man can scare me into submission, then get a rise out of me. It's not right. And every time I get that feeling, I wonder if I can get away. If it's too late, or if right now's the time. I wonder so much."

His brother tapped his thumbs together, trying to comprehend the situation. "So you haven't made any plans. It's just been a few thoughts here and there?"

"Yes. But with the baby, and Annelies…I don't want to raise a child in this environment. To have it know only hate sickens me," he sighed. "I've mentioned it to her once before, and she agrees with me. This isn't the place for a Jewish child to grow up."

Friedrich laced his fingers together, looking down at the table. His usually boisterous expression was contemplative now. Daniel wondered what was going through his brother's mind. Was he mad? Upset?

"To say that I haven't thought of leaving the country now would be a lie," Friedrich finally said, "but I don't know if I could bear leaving here."

"Yes. That's why it is only been a thought. Part of me knows I can't stay in a country that hates me, but another part keeps me here, holding on. I've grown up here. My life's here. My family's here. How can I be happy anywhere else?"

"But what would you chose in the end?"

_What would I chose? My livelihood, or my memories?_ Daniel thought. He closed his eyes, trying to get a hold of the situation. _Die in my country, or live in a strange, harsh land? Would I be miserable either way?_

"I honestly can't say," he replied, "but what of you, my brother?"

Friedrich still looked down, a pensive look still on his face. They sat in silence, seconds slipping away.

"It would be harder for me, in the end, with Mother and uprooting my practice to start a new one somewhere else. Even with certain doom, you almost wonder if the trouble of starting all over again is a good thing."

"What would you do if I did? I mean, leave Germany for somewhere else?" He felt his heart hammer. He had been aching to ask his brother, knowing the question's terrible consequences.

"I wouldn't blame you, honestly. You have a new family to look after and provide for." His voice was low and serious, something so strange. Daniel felt uneasy.

"Would you be mad?" he pressed.

"Daniel, please. You're my brother. I don't want you to suffer."

"I don't want you to, either," he softly added.

"Dan, who's to say I'm going to stay here?"

"But what if you do? That'll always be on my conscience, Fritz. Leaving you here in this hell."

"It's your decision in the end, Dan," his brother quietly stated.

Daniel said nothing. He knew what was to be done. And Friedrich knew, too.

* * *

"Are you really sure about this, Daniel?" Annelies asked later that night.

"As sure as I'll ever be," he replied. He took his wife's hand in his.

His wife massaged her temple, trying to make sense of it all. "What of our family and friends? Are we just going to leave them behind?"

"Yes. Anne, it's not going to be easy. I think we already know that. But what else are we going to do? Sit here and die?"

"It's just…how do we leave our lives behind? How do we get rid of everything and everyone we love?"

He squeezed his wife's hand tight. "Our ancestors did it. So can we."

She sighed, resignation in her voice. "Where were you thinking of moving?"

"England."

"England? Why so far away?"

"Well, there are lots of Germans there, so it's not unknown. But I don't think staying on the continent is a good idea, Anne."

"Why?"

Daniel sighed, knowing that this was only the beginning of the questions. "I just don't think it's a good idea to be on the continent. To be anywhere near that man. Who knows what he would do?"

"He wouldn't dare invade another country, would he?" she gasped.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Daniel remarked. "My English is reasonable, so it won't be too hard to find a job or something. Father made sure I knew some English."

"Do you think it's a good idea for me to be traveling, though?" Annelies asked.

"If we don't do it now I fear we may never be able to leave. Besides, it's just a small boat trip. I'm sure it'll be fine."

She laid her hand on her small, swelling stomach. Daniel pursed his lips, aware of the risks involved. So many times they had conceived, only to lose the child a few weeks later. This one had held out the longest, and it seemed like they were finally going to be parents.

"I don't want our child to grow up under him, Anne," Daniel softly said.

"I don't either. But are we doing the right thing, leaving our family behind? With all of the horror we're trying to escape?"

He sighed. "I don't know. But we don't have any other option, do we?"

* * *

The sky was passive, no sun or storm. Just long miles of gray, far as the eye could see. The weather was cold and brisk. People boarded the boat, happy and care-free. They hugged their loved ones and bid them good-bye, and passed on without a care.

Daniel held Annelies' hand tight. They held their small valises in their hands, filled with few possessions. Their friends and family surrounded them, tears and sad expressions plentiful. Daniel had yet to cry. Rather, all he could concentrate on was the worry that constantly plagued him.

_How could I leave this – them – all behind?_

_It's best for us. That's all that matters._

"You must write as much as you can," his sister-in-law Greta commanded.

"And in German. None of this English nonsense," her husband joked.

"I think I'll leave the English to Daniel," Annelies replied. She slipped out of his hand and hugged her sister good-bye. "You've got to write back too, you know."

"A dozen letters every week," her sister promised. Tears began to well in her eyes, and Annelies pulled away before it was a steady stream.

"Don't be a stranger, Dan," his brother said, clapping him on the back. Daniel smiled weakly at his brother. He tried to push back all of his feelings of guilt, but still they persisted.

_How could I leave Friedrich alone, to take care of Mother? Even if he is a bachelor, I shouldn't expect him to drop his social life to take care of her._

_But I must consider my own family. I can't take care of both, can I?_

Friedrich pulled Daniel into a tight hug. "Don't worry about it," his brother whispered.

"Are you going to keep me away from my son all day, Friedrich?" his mother asked. She was balanced unsteadily on her cane, wobbling left to right.

_I may never see her again. _The awful thought struck Daniel. He tried to push it away, but he knew it was true. Who knew when he was coming back, _if _he was coming back?

"Sorry, Mother. Quite selfish of me." His brother pulled away, a tiny smile on his face.

Daniel wrapped his mother in his arms, trying to imprint this memory in his mind. She was so small and delicate, so unlike the broad woman she was in youth. She smelled sweet, like lavender. Like she always did.

"I expect a letter from you every week, Daniel," she informed him, as he broke away.

"Of course, Mother," he replied, his throat tight.

"And I want the news right away when my first grandchild is born," she added. She smiled brightly at him. "I love you, Daniel. Don't forget that."

"How could I ever?" he said. "I love you too, Mother."

The first warning was called, and they knew their time was up. A few more good-byes were called and promises exchanged, before the two travelers boarded the ship. Annelies stood on the deck, still calling at her family. Daniel, however, tried not to look back.

"Come now, Daniel, don't deprive your family one last time to look at you," his wife pleaded.

"Maybe it's better not to look back. Makes it easier."

"Suit yourself," she sighed, still waving good-bye.

_But do I really want their last look of me to be my back? To never see my face again, after what I'm doing?_

He felt the boat pull away as he turned around. They were starting to set sail, the land slowly growing distant. He searched around for his family and found them, smiling staidly. He waved a weak good-bye, before turning back.

_What am I doing here without them?_


	2. The Dream

Their cabin was small and dark, just large enough for a bed, a lamp and a small chair. Annelies lay out on the bed, tired and worn.

"At least this trip is only a few days," she sighed. "I don't think I could handle weeks of this. I'm already nauseous."

"Are you sure it isn't your sickness?" he asked, looking out the small window in their cabin.

"No, it very well could be. I could never understand why men would want to become sailors, though. Being trapped inside for months, years, with only water all around and the birds in the sky."

"It's to see the world. To be able to go outside your town, be something else. You could see so much of the world if you were a sailor," Daniel replied, trying to find solace in the bobbing waves.

"There is that," Annelies yawned. She stretched out and closed her eyes, sleep claiming her.

He looked over his shoulder at his sleeping wife. Though peacefully asleep, Daniel knew that she was just as emotionally worn as he. Her lips curved down in a frown, and small lines creased her forehead even in sleep. Both of them hadn't slept in days, the stress of the journey too much.

_Am I really doing this? Am I really going to another country just for my livelihood? What type of son am I, to leave my mother when she is sick and ill? This isn't right, and I know it. I can't just sacrifice my family like this._

_But what am I supposed to do? Keep on suffering when I have a way out? I mean, it's not as if I'm the first in the town to do this. The Wittes up the street left just last week, just them. No family or friends. Just the parents and the children. No aunts or uncle or parents._

_But is it right just because others did it?_

_It's not as if I'm abandoning them, forsaking them. They're still my family. I'm just trying to survive. Besides, who's to say I'm leaving them behind? I'll get them when the time comes. I will._

_But what if I'm not there in time?_

He rubbed his temple, his mind throbbing with unanswerable questions. He felt weary, so tired of having his mind run around.

_I suppose I had better go to sleep. The captain says it will be rough tonight, _he thought, absentmindedly. His thoughts were thin and listless, tumbling quickly into each other, yet always returning to the last look on his family's faces. He tried to put them aside as he climbed into bed.

Though he tried hard to rest, he lay awake all through the night, his mind ravaged by thoughts. It was near midnight when he finally felt himself drift to sleep.

* * *

_The fierce, hard rocking of waves tossed the ship about. Daniel felt delirious, unsure of where he was. Raining was pouring on his face, drenching him from head to toe. He wiped his brow and tried to open his eyes. He was alone on the deck of the ship, no one around no matter how many times he cast his eyes._

_He was clinging desperately to the mast, trying to keep from falling overboard. He slid about, going one way, then the next. He didn't feel sick; rather, he was too disoriented to know better._

_After minutes of thrashing about, the boat seemed to stabilize. Daniel swept his eyes about, trying to make sense of it all. He realized that he wasn't on the boat he was sailing to England. Instead, this was a grand vessel, large and wooden. The prow was a head of what looked like a dragon, and the mast was a brilliant purple. It was a strange, lovely ship._

Why am I here, _he wondered, as the rain continued to beat on him. He looked out east, and saw a country shrouded in clouds. He swallowed and looked out west, another country in the dark. He turned his gaze back down, to the polished wood beneath him._

_The ship still rocked uneasily under the storm, and rain continued to beat fiercely. He wished it would stop, that it would all go away and the sky would clear out, but it remained dark and dismal._

_"Please, someone, help me!" he screamed out to the sky, knowing it was a futile attempt. There was no one around for ages. Just him and the ship, balancing between two countries._

_He saw, out of the corner of his eye, something bright and golden. He raised his head, and saw a large, glowing lion. Scared, he stood up and started to walk away slowly, but the quick moving ship pitched him forward, landing chest first. He felt his lungs ache, devoid of air._

_He closed his eyes and clutched at his chest, the pain so strong he didn't notice the lion walking closer. When he opened his eyes, he saw patches of golden fur. He glanced up at the lion and swallowed, hoping it would be over soon._

_He felt the lion grab him by the scruff of his neck in his jaws. He expected the lion to snap his neck any moment, but instead, the beast pulled him up gently and set him on his feet. It was like a mother helping up their fallen child._

_The lion breathed on Daniel, and the painter scrunched his face up, expecting some nasty smell. Instead it was light and sweet. He felt a strange sense of hope run through him, as if all of the storm was worth it. He nervously reached out a hand to stroke the lion's muzzle, and it accepted, a trace of smile on the beast's lips._

_Daniel sighed, happy to find that horror over. He looked up at the sky, rain still pelting them. The lion turned his head up and breathed again, stronger. The skies slowly cleared away, the waves lessened. It was calm._

_Daniel looked back down at the large lion, awe filling him. How strange, how god-like this creature was. He could handle him with the gentleness of a mother, and dispel an entire storm._

_He swept his eyes over the ship again, trying to memorize it all. It was even more glorious in the softly rising sun, the wood bright as brass and the form elegant but sturdy. His eyes drifted to the east, but the lion gently pressed his paw on Daniel's foot. He looked over at the lion, curious. The beast leaned in and whispered in his ear, his voice deep and rough._

_"Don't regret it."_

He woke with a start.

He looked about the room, sweat beading the top of his brow. It was dark, shadows cast on the floor. He was in bed, in a cabin. Their cabin, in their ship to England. It was metal and dull and bulky.

His wife stirred beside him. There was no one else in the room. He looked over at his sleeping wife, and sighed.

He felt his mind race with thoughts, like before. But instead of guilt plaguing him, there was also sense of relief, acceptance buoying him up.

His thoughts, this time, meandered back to the bright, bold ship. The strange yet intricate prow, the glossy beams, the purple sail. It was a beautiful ship, something out of a storybook.

He threw the bedclothes off and ran for his valise. He quickly, quietly, rummaged for his paper. He certainly wasn't going to let the ship escape his memory. Nothing that lovely deserved to fade away.

"What are you doing, Daniel?" his wife stirred.

"Painting, my dear."

"In the middle of the night?" she wondered, incredulous.

"Inspiration waits for no one," he replied, pulling out paper and covering a stretcher. He tightened the material, and pulled out a brush.

All through the night, while the rest of the passengers slept, Daniel was up, furiously painting. He wanted desperately to remember the ship, to keep it from slipping away. With every minute the brilliant ship was slipping away from his memory. But the feeling it gave him lasted.

"Are you still painting?" he wife asked as the sun crept into the sky.

"Just finished," he replied, with a triumph stroke of his brush. His wife climbed out of bed and leaned over, looking down at the small painting.

"A green and purple ship? Where did you come up with such a thing?"

"This dream that I had last night."

"That must have been some dream," she chuckled.

"Yes it was," he sighed, a strange sense of resolution washing through him. Deep down, though, he still felt the storm of guilt and doubt, rage inside of him. But now he could calm it himself.

When they arrived in England, the sky was the same, drab gray it was in Germany. The air was filled with sounds of busy, hurried people, but it was foreign. The words, the calls they made to each other were different, strange. Daniel, while waiting with Annelies on the deck, strained to understand the words.

"Do you understand them?" she asked.

"Only bits and pieces. They speak too quickly for me to comprehend," he replied, sighing. He felt his heart pound nervously. How could he expect to make it here if he couldn't understand the first words he heard?

He felt a little pressure on his forearm, and he turned. Annelies was smiling, holding him close. "Don't worry, dear. We made it. That's what matters."

"Yes, I suppose," he muttered. He gave a brief thought back to his family, before remembering his strange dream.

_Don't regret it._

_I won't_, he resolved, as he and Annelies made their way down the ramp to the dock below.

* * *

Daniel sighed as he stood outside of a gallery, looking in the window. He'd been through three or four galleries so far, all of which rejected his paintings. His stomach churned, hoping that maybe this one would buy something.

He had gone back to taking up small, odd jobs, to be able to pay for the rent and food. Though it was a living, Daniel hated it. He had painted continually since his arrival in England, but had yet to sell a painting in the three months since they arrived.

Daniel shrugged his shoulders and went inside, checking in with the secretary. She immediately led him to the owner, a thin, well-dressed man in his sixties.

"You're German, you say," the gallery owner said, interest in his voice.

"Yes. Lived in the north," Daniel replied, as he laid his portfolio on the gallery owner's desk.

"After the Modernist movement German painters are all the rage. They're very modern, on the edge of things, you know," the gallery owner replied, opening up the portfolio and taking out paintings.

"I can't say mine are modern," Daniel sighed, as the owner looked over his pieces.

"No, very rustic and whimsical. You paint mostly nautical scenes, I see."

"I lived near the sea when I was in Germany," he replied.

"Hmm, interesting. Oh, what's this?" He picked up the hastily painted ship. Daniel flushed with embarrassment.

"That was something I did in a fit. I shouldn't have brought it," he excused, trying to take the piece away.

"Oh, no, I like it. I think it's quite good. The urgency, the harsh brush strokes. It really helps define the ship. Gives it character."

"Character?" he asked, the word unfamiliar. Though he had learned a lot of English within the first few months, he still found his vocabulary lacking.

"Makes it interesting," the owner simplified. "Yes, I will definitely buy this one. I'm sure it will sell. Absolutely positive," he raved, pulling out a few pounds. "Here. I think this should be enough." He pressed the money into Daniel's palm. He smiled, collecting his paintings.

"Is there anything else you like?" Daniel asked, before he left.

"No, this'll do."

* * *

"Mr. Maler?"

The gray-haired man blinked, startled by his name. He shook his head and looked around his small office in his gallery. It was the same sight he had seen for twenty years, ever since he made the decision to sell paintings instead of create them, for monetary sake.

"Yes?" he answered, looking up at his secretary.

"I'm leaving now. I just wanted to let you know since it's a little earlier than usual."

"Oh, of course. Good-bye," he replied, with a half-hearted wave of his hand. He looked back over to the calendar on his wall, to check the date once more, and then sighed. It had been thirty years since he had left Germany to come to England.

The thought of it brought a rush of memories back, some pleasant, but most not. He remembered his family with a sharp sting in his heart.

_Where are you now, my brother, _he wondered. _You never did make it out of there. It had been too late by the time you were ready to leave. And almost ten years later, I still have no idea if you survived or not. Mother…well, God rest her soul._

He felt his throat grow tight, and that same piercing feeling he felt aboard that ship so many years ago came back. Remembering the difficult journey, he tried to push it away. He thought about the dream once again, now a hazy memory in his mind. It was a constant source of comfort and question for Daniel as the years went on.

He felt his shoulders shrug as the memory played out, reluctant and mournful. The pain slowly ebbed away, until it had become like it always was, a dull, numb stab in the back of his heart.

Thirty years later, and the pain hadn't gone away. But neither had the resolution that the dream had given him. He reached for his keys and sighed, adjusting his shoulders. The two feelings would never go away, he knew. But one made the other bearable. And he thanked the Lion for that, every day.

* * *

**NOTE:**_ Some of my readers have wondered if the story goes on past this chapter, to talk about how it ended up at the Scrubbs' house. Sorry, but it does not. I wanted to focus more on how the painting was created and on Mr. Maler's back story and emotional development._

_However, I did write a coda that shows how it did up there, within the context and continuity of my stories. I posted it up on my Live Journal. The link to the coda can be found on my profile, under the 'MISCELLANY' category. You don't need to read it to understand the story, but if you want to know my theory as to how it got there and how it fits in with the characters in my story, this is mostly for your benefit._


End file.
